Champagne Life (6 page)

“Not a big dessert fan?” he asked.

“I prefer to bake my own.”

The waitress smiled, told us to have a good day and placed the bill down onto the table and left.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the bill, reached into his wallet and placed a twenty on the table. “You bake?”

“A little.”

“What's your favorite thing to bake?”

“I'm a big fan of chocolate chip cookies.”

“Me too.” He took a sip of his beer. “I mean I was, but I had to knock that out in college with my big ass.”

I waited until he laughed before I chuckled a bit.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what?”

“You were giving me your deep dark secret.”

I normally didn't tell people my private business, but watching Jeremy tell me something about his past, I felt his relief. It prompted me to want to do the same. “Okay, mine's a college secret too.”

“Really? I pictured you as the homecoming queen or the captain of the cheer squad.”

“I was those, too.”

He laughed. “Should've known.”

“But that's not all I was.” I had never told anyone about my college days, not even DeShaun, but it seemed okay at that point. “During my freshman year, I needed money for books so I danced as a stripper.”

“You're lying. That sounds like a movie.”

“Seriously, it's true.”

“How the hell did you get into college then?”

“I had a partial scholarship, plus my parents made a lot of money and paid for the rest.”

“So what was the problem? Why didn't you hit up your parents?”

I couldn't believe I was telling him this. Even DeShaun had no idea of my dancing past. “When I was in college, I was a bit of a fashion freak and totally into myself.” I hesitated for a second, deciding if I should give him the entire story or the condensed version. I settled on the shorter story.

“My parents gave me money for books, but I spent it all on clothes
and shoes. I had to make money somehow and my roommate knew this girl who knew this girl, and to make a long story short, I danced at a local spot for a month.”

“Topless or full nudity?”

“Only topless, but that was bad enough.” I thought a second. If I was going to come clean, I was going to come clean completely. “Okay, I lied. It was full nudity.”

“Get outta here!” he exclaimed, but quickly added, “but hey, I don't judge. You had to do what you had to do. At least you had the sense to figure out how to get money.”

“The whole ordeal was so disgusting. Men looked at you with their tongues practically hanging to the floor. When I danced, on the stage, I could look down and see the bulges in their pants getting bigger and bigger. I was seventeen years old and the first time I stepped onto that stage to dance, I felt like a little girl. Eight minutes later, at the end of the routine, I had felt like a hoodrat who had been around the block a few times.”

The longer version of the story went something like this; dancing for a month, dabbling in drugs in order to force myself onto that stage every night and even a few times being approached by “movie producers” who wanted to feature me in their films.

“It's still embarrassing when I think about it.” I was glad to finally admit that to someone. No one, except for my freshman roommate, Tanisha, knew about my dancing days as “Victoria.” Last I heard, Tanisha was doing adult movies under the name, “Wicked Wanita.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I told you about my fat, back-brace-wearing days, and you told me about your dancing days. I'd say we're even.”

“Back brace, too?” I didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. “You had it bad.”

He laughed. “Well, now we know something about each other that no one else knows.”

I grabbed my purse and stood up, ready to leave. For some reason, his last statement made me feel slightly uncomfortable as well as a tad bit guilty. Another man knew something even my husband didn't. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.

D
eShaun prepared dinner almost every night. He didn't have to be at work until after six most evenings, so often times I walked through the front door and was met with the sound of food sizzling in a frying pan and to the smell of various spices. Tonight, as I unlocked and entered through the front door, I heard no sizzling and there was no scent of spices wafting in the air.

DeShaun was at the kitchen counter with his back to me. “Hey, you're home.” There was something sexy about seeing him prepare food at the kitchen counter he'd refurbished for me. He spent the last of our savings to install the granite countertop because he knew I wanted it. Plus, the fact that he was completely nude was a plus, too.

I glanced down at his tight body and felt myself getting slightly turned on. “Are you kidding me? You cannot be serious.”

He raised his arms and in a slow motion, turned around wearing a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon. Aside from two white chef's hats on both heads, a pair of white tube socks was the only other thing he wore. He handed me a glass of wine. “For you, my love.”

“You are crazy. You know that, right?”

He eased his way up to me. “I thought we'd try something a little different tonight.” Little D poked my thigh as DeShaun took the glass from my hands and raised it to my lips. “Taste this. It's
good, right? The restaurant changed wine sellers. I knew you'd like this one.”

With DeShaun still holding on to the glass, I took a quick sip. “This is really good.” I took the glass from his hand and took another sip. “It's delicious.” With my free hand, I reached down and cupped Little D. “And so is this.”

DeShaun took a step back. “Hey, hey, hey. Before you go and get yourself all worked up, I've got good news to tell you. In fact, I have two pieces of good news.”

I looked at his naked butt and laughed. “Is that what prompted this little outfit, or should I say, lack of one?”

He looked down. “This old thing?”

“You are stupid.” I couldn't help but laugh. “So what's this good news?” I glanced down at Little D, who was standing at full attention in his tiny white chef's hat. “You ordered some Viagra or something?”

“Nope. That's all you. But the good news is that Berti and Jenn Herjavec came in for lunch today.”

“Did she corner you in the pantry and rip off your clothes again?”

DeShaun was always telling me stories about Mrs. Herjavec and how she flirted with him right under her husband's nose. I never got jealous. Maybe it was because he told me every time she flirted with him, or maybe it was because I was secure in my marriage and didn't feel she posed any threat. In some weird perverted way, it excited me to hear about another woman wanting my husband. That meant I had something special.

DeShaun grabbed the glass from my hands and took a sip. “No cornering this time, but she did drop me a one-hundred dollar tip.”

“Oooo, good. Now I can go shopping.”

DeShaun refilled my glass and handed it to me. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I took another sip.

“And if I am?” He gently took the keys from my hand and set
them down on the table. He backed me up against the counter top and began unbuttoning my blouse while gently kissing my neck.

“Hold on a sec. All I had to eat today was a burger for lunch. You have to feed me before you get all this.” I suggestively smoothed the palms of my hands down my pencil skirt. “You want this, you gotta pay for it. Wait, that doesn't sound right.”

He kissed me again, this time on the lips. “A burger, huh?” Little DeShaun was now stabbing at my thigh. “Since when is Miss Savings Queen spending money going out to lunch?”

“First off,” I said, reaching for the half-empty glass of wine on the counter behind him and taking another sip. “It was only a burger. And second, I didn't pay for it.”

He stopped kissing. “You walked out on a check? Oh, that's tacky, even for you Mimi.”

“Who said I walked out? If you must know I went to lunch with a co-worker. He paid for it.”

“He?”

“Yup. Some tall, handsome bank teller who whisked me off my feet and carried me to lunch in his awaiting chariot.” I enjoyed teasing him about other guys as much as he teased me about other women. I think it even turned him on a bit, the same way it turned me on when he told me about the women at the parties he serviced. “He said his name was Prince something or other—Charming, I think.”

“Oh really? I thought the only dudes at the bank were that short stubby guy and the dude with the bad psoriasis who spits when he talks.”

I playfully smacked him on his shoulder. “Stop that. You know Scott has a lisp.”

“Did he spit all over your food when he said, ‘Passth the thsalt, pleath'?”

I laughed. “You are so ignorant. Did you know your momma raised an ig'nant son? And for the record, I didn't go with Scott.”

“Who then?”

“Jeremy. You remember him, don't you?”

“You mean the guy you hate?”

“I don't hate him—not really. He actually turned out to be cool.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“But he doesn't compare to you in the least, my Snookums.”

“Does he still have that big, pointy peanut head?”

“You mean like yours? Yup, he does.”

“HA! Funny. You seem to like
this
pointy head poking you.” He grabbed my waist and pulled me to him.

“That reminds me,” I said, in between his kisses. “I got your message at work. Sorry. I couldn't pick up, but you would not believe who came into the bank today?”

“Who?”

“The President—”

“Obama?”

“No, you goof,” I said. “And would you let me finish? The president of the Maxum Corporation.”

“Who?”

“The makeup company.”

DeShaun shrugged.

“I only wear their lip gloss all the time.”

DeShaun shrugged again. “Hey, if they make you look like that, I'm down.”

I took another sip of wine. “They opened an account with us. Dude walked right in and basically, slapped down like a million bucks onto the counter and asked to open up an account. It was nothing to him. It was like he was ordering a cup of coffee.”

“Did you snatch up a couple hundred-dollar bills 'cuz I sure could use some new kicks.”

“I wish. He was with like ten bodyguards. Must be nice to have cash like that.” I polished off the rest of the wine in my glass and poured another one. “What was your other news?” I asked, drinking up the wine in two gulps. “You said you had two pieces of good news to tell me.”

“Well, it's not million dollar news,” DeShaun said. “But Stiles is ready to offer me the managerial position.”

“Wow! That is good news. Congratulations!” I tried to muster up a little more enthusiasm but my thoughts were elsewhere. I was thinking about old lady Pritcherd and all those other people who waltzed into my bank with all that money. As I poured another glass of wine, I felt him watching me.

“Am I interrupting your happy hour?”

“What? I took another sip. “I said, ‘Congratulations.'”

“Really? That's all I get? You sounded more enthusiastic talking about dude who came into the bank with all that cash.”

“What are you talking about? I am happy for you.”

“I want you to be happy for us.”

“I am, baby. I really am. I'm happy for you, I'm happy for me, and I am especially happy for your big peanut head.” I reached up and rubbed his bald head.

He smushed his naked body against me. “Isn't my big peanut head the reason you married me?”

“Nope.” I kissed his nose. “I married you for your smoking hot body. I also married you for your sexy smile.” I planted another kiss on his lips. “I definitely didn't marry you for your money.”

He took a step back. “What's that supposed to mean?”

I unbuttoned my blouse and slinked up to him, wrapping my
arms around his bare waist. “Oh c'mon, you didn't marry me for my money either. We're both broke.”

“That's different. I'm broke so I don't have any money and I'm just a waiter. You're only broke because you refuse to ask for money from your rich-ass parents. You could have it if you wanted it.”

“So? Either way it's broke,” I said. “How would it look for their grown married daughter, asking for money?”

“So what you're saying is, I'm not doing a good job taking care of you?”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other. Stop putting words into my mouth. I'm simply saying that I refuse to go back to my parents with my tail tucked between my legs and ask them—the people who didn't want me to marry you in the first place—for money.”

“Oh, that's right. How could I forget? Your parents wanted you to marry Mr. Money Dude with a shit load of money. Maybe Mr. President-Money-Bags-the-one-who-apparently-shut-the-whole-bank-down-so-you-couldn't-talk-to-your-broke-ass-husband-for-two-seconds is single.”

“Knock it off.”

“You could always go back and see if you can get another lunch out of Mr. Peanut Head Teller Dude while you're at it. See if he can spring for something a little more high-class than a burnt burger.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” I stormed out of the kitchen.

That should've been the end of it. I should've stomped out of the house, ran upstairs, did anything other than say what escaped my lips. If I had, we could've been having make-up sex within the hour. But, in the heat of the moment, I wasn't thinking. I turned and stood in the kitchen doorway. Before I controlled it, I spewed out, “I'll bring you back a doggie bag of our scraps.”

DeShaun had never placed hands on me and I never thought he ever would, but right then and there, I understood that those were some serious “check yourself” words. And while I never condoned violence against a woman for any reason, I had to admit I wouldn't have been surprised if he would've come at me. He didn't, and I was thankful for that.